HMS Belvidera - 7. Chapter 7

July, 1795

Midshipman Lennox walked into the captain's cabin to find a raucous crowd enjoying the captain's table. Granger was fast getting a reputation as one of the better hosts in the fleet, what with his almost unlimited purse to stock up on provisions and his pampered French chef, Lefavre. Lennox cringed internally with jealousy at the sight, at being on watch and thus missing the festivities.

“Were you looking for me, Mr. Lennox?” Granger asked with a smile, pulling Lennox out of his thoughts. The cabin quieted as the officers interrupted their conversation to give way to official business.

“Yes, sir,” Lennox said. “Aurore signaled Reindeer to depart, and she's acknowledged. She was already shearing out of line as I came below.” The mood around the table got significantly darker with that, with the thought that Reindeer was going home and they were not.

“Thank you, Mr. Lennox,” Granger said. “When you are off duty, I will see you in my cabin. There will be some food here that will require your attention.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Lennox said with a smile. Then he excused himself.

“Now there's a smart lad,” Bailey said, glaring at Brookstone.

“I hope to be as smart as him someday, and that should be possible with your help sir,” Brookstone said cheerfully. “In fact, your lesson today was most enlightening. Until then, I had no idea that addition involved taking the value of one number away from the other.” All the officers at the table roared, even Bailey. Brookstone had a light, almost effervescent manner that refused to be stomped out, even by naval discipline.

“Whippersnapper,” Bailey groused. But he was just being cantankerous. Everyone at the table knew he was fond of Brookstone.

“Well gentlemen, besides your charming company, I had another reason for inviting you to dine with me. Reindeer brought news, and I want to share it with you. France and Spain are at peace,” Granger announced.

“Are the Dons at war with us now, sir?” Grafton asked, almost hopefully.

“Not yet, Mr. Grafton. I suspect that isn't far off the horizon though,” Granger said. They digested that news.

“If Spain comes in on the French side sir, what does that mean for us? Will we be able to fight them both?” asked Cavendish. Granger studied the young man as he spoke and wondered what he had done to have such amazingly handsome young midshipmen dropped into his lap, as it were. Cavendish had been handsome when he'd first come on board, but as his body changed into a man's body, his face became longer, taking him to a whole new level of attractiveness. Cavendish was talented on many levels, but he was also very bright. It was visible in his eyes, pale blue but piercing, probing not to cause discomfort, but to learn.

“Bloody Dons aren't nothing to worry about,” Bailey muttered.

“It will make getting provisions from them more difficult if the need arises,” Andrews observed.

“Your efficiency and resourcefulness on that account, Mr. Andrews, makes me suspect we'll be able to function just fine without them,” Granger said graciously. Andrews was truly an iconic purser.

“Thank you sir,” he said, with the closest thing to a smile he could muster.

“To answer your question, Mr. Cavendish, while Spain is a weakening power, she still has a formidable fleet, and a strong location, straddling the entrance to the Mediterranean. And she has a strong motivation to want war with us. It has been her longtime goal to reclaim Gibraltar. But her ships, while well built, are often left in disrepair, and are manned by crews that are little better than peasants,” Granger observed. He'd been reading up on the Mediterranean since their change in orders, and had been amazed at the lack of readiness of the Spanish fleet. Still, he'd fought alongside the Spaniards at Toulon, and found some of them to be brave and ferocious fighters.

Granger let that settle in before continuing. “We have a more pressing and closer problem.” Now he really had their attention. “Reindeer sighted the Floreal almost directly in our path some two weeks ago.”

“Isn't that the French ship-of-the-line that used a ruse to capture and sink Zenith?” Merrick asked. Granger bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. The feeble ruse was only effective because the British captain, Freemantle, had been such an idiot.

“The very same,” Granger observed.

“Well, between us and Aurore and our little army, surely we should be a match for a single ship-of-the-line,” Grafton observed.

Granger forced himself to remain impassive as he dropped the final piece of news. “If we encounter Floreal, Aurore will attempt to distract her while we escort the convoy away from danger.”

“Run away, sir?” Grafton asked, horrified. He was just the most vocal. The others shared his distaste for leaving Aurore to do all the work. And the other part, the part no one would mention because they knew he and Travers were friends, was the knowledge that if they did that and Aurore succeeded in miraculously capturing Floreal, Belvidera would be out of sight and thus ineligible for any prize money. The cynics would say Travers was doing this to keep all the money for himself and his crew.

Granger knew that was nonsense, and so would the others if they thought about it. A frigate capturing a ship-of-the-line was almost unheard of, and Aurore would probably be blasted to bits instead. If she did capture Floreal, Granger decided that Aurore deserved any rewards she could get. “Those are our orders, Mr. Grafton.”

“We can't just leave the Aurore to fight it out alone against those odds, can we sir?” Merrick asked, a much more humane question.

“Captain Travers knows the risks. It is unlikely that Floreal is the only French ship in these waters, and there are certainly privateers about. If we both engage Floreal, that leaves the transports without an escort. They'd be sitting ducks to even a small cutter,” Granger said.

“But together we could disable her, sir,” Grafton insisted earnestly.

“That is a possibility, but it is much more likely that we would be the ones who are disabled. Our mission is to get these troops safely to St. Helena where they may make a huge difference in the safety of world trade and of the nation. That is where Captain Travers' mind is firmly rooted, and that is where we should be thinking as well,” Granger said. He saw the men at the table think about that and accept it grudgingly, just as he did. “You may be interested to know, though, that I had exactly the same reaction that you did, Mr. Grafton.”

Grafton smiled at him, turning on the charm and activating his enormous sex appeal. “Thank you sir.”

The change in watch served to end the dinner party. Granger relaxed in one of his lounge chairs and stared out his stern windows, watching the sunlight slowly fade away. He pulled himself up and went to head up on deck to do his normal nightly routine and almost ran into Lennox as he was about to enter Granger's cabin.

“I'm sorry sir,” Lennox said, stepping aside.

“Not a problem,” Granger said with a smile. “Go help yourself to dinner. Winkler will help you out. I'll be back shortly.”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said with a smile, and headed into the cabin to gorge himself on leftovers. Granger remembered back to his own days as a midshipman, and the one overriding thing he recalled was how often he was hungry. He did his normal check on deck, making sure all was well and giving his night orders, then went back to his cabin. He found the dining table cleared off and Lennox already gone. He thought about passing the word for Lennox, but knew he wouldn't. He had too much pride to chase after someone to convince him to have sex. Disappointed, he headed grudgingly to his sleeping cabin. He walked in and there was Lennox, sitting on his bed nervously.

“I hope you don't mind me coming in here, sir,” he said hastily. “I felt in the way when they were trying to clear off your table, but I didn't want to go back to my cabin and miss out, er, I mean, uh...” he stammered. He was so cute, the way he couldn't tell Granger how much he wanted this. Instead he showed him, by making sure he was at the right place at the right time.

“I'm glad you did,” Granger said. He extended his hand and the young man took it, then Granger pulled him up and into his arms. They balanced on their feet, their legs gently moving with the light seas Belvidera was plowing through, while their mouths came together until they touched, lightly, tentatively at first, then more urgently. A rogue wave rocked the ship more than normal, pulling them apart, but they merely used that as a cue to take off their clothes. Granger began stripping, watching Lennox expose his handsome young body in the dim light of the night lantern. Finally naked, they both crawled into Granger's cot, with Lennox on his back and Granger lying on his side next to him.

“You are a vision of beauty,” Granger told him as he ran his hand up and down Lennox's body. How he had changed since he first came aboard, and since their last encounter. Gone was the boy with almost no pubic hair. Now he had a thick bush that was a dark blond to match his hair. Gone was the squeaking voice of a boy in puberty, replaced by a deeper and even more melodic voice of adolescence. And then Granger reached his cock and felt Lennox tense and moan. Lennox involuntarily pushed his hips up, begging for more attention. His dick had gotten bigger too, now probably a good six and a half inches long, and on the thick side. Granger lowered his lips to Lennox's again and felt him respond enthusiastically, urgently. “It seems I owe you something,” Granger said jokingly.

“Yes sir,” Lennox said with an incredibly urgent look on his face. Granger moved his mouth down Lennox's torso, taking time to suck on his small nipples and kiss his abdomen, until he got to his groin. He smelled like a young man who had been working hard and hadn't showered recently, a not-unpleasant smell. Granger inhaled the smell, then his cock. He heard Lennox gasp, and then, after only a few seconds of ecstasy, the young man came, blasting his copious load down Granger's throat. “I'm sorry, sir,” Lennox said, as he tried to stop panting.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Granger said.

“I was awfully fast,” he said. If the light had been better, Granger knew he'd be blushing.

“That's because you're a young man. That's normal,” Granger said reassuringly. “If you're willing to wait a few minutes, I suspect you'll recover.”

“I suspect you're right,” he said, his smile showing so cutely in the dim light of the lantern.

“So how do you like Belvidera?” Granger asked.

“I like her a lot, sir,” Lennox said. Granger leaned in and kissed him, feeling his own hormones surging, and hoped the young man would recharge quickly.

“You don't have to call me “sir” when we're in bed,” Granger said with a smile. “Or did you forget that?”

“I remember every second of our time together,” Lennox said. He looked up at Granger with an expression of longing, and leaned up to kiss him. This time they didn't break off the kiss, this time Lennox molded his lithe young body to Granger's, thrusting gently against him. There was a gentleness about him, about his embraces, that Granger found almost feminine, and it fueled his excitement like a torch to an oily rag. Lennox pushed him away then, and Granger felt his mood drop. Did Lennox want to leave? But that was not what was on his mind.

“I want you,” Lennox said, offering Granger his ass. Granger ran his hand up the young man's inner thigh to his thin ass, so thin his crack was readily accessible. Granger ran his fingers up and down, letting them gently graze Lennox's hole. Lennox moaned and pushed back toward him.

“I want you too,” Granger told him. He nuzzled into Lennox's neck, moaning so Lennox would feel the vibrations of his voice. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” Lennox said unconvincingly. Granger grabbed the lanolin and began to work it into Lennox's tight young hole. He probed, first with one finger, then two, until he found Lennox's magic spot. “Mmm,” Lennox said, and loosened up. Granger got him worked up a little more, but then he could wait no longer. He put the lanolin on his own cock and moved up to Lennox and made to push in. The young man tightened up, shutting him out.

“It may hurt a bit at first, but you have to relax,” Granger said. He pushed forward, but it was no good.

“I'm sorry,” Lennox said, almost a sob. Suddenly Granger understood his first reaction, and the current one. He'd obviously tried this with someone else but had given up because it hurt too much.

“Don't be sorry. It can hurt. Here, let's try this,” Granger said, being surprisingly accommodating. His own drives were almost out of control, but he harnessed them. This young man had chosen him to be his first, so he was duty-bound to do it right. Granger lay on his back and pulled Lennox on top of him. “Lower yourself onto me, at your own pace.”

Lennox lined himself up and tried, but didn't get very far before he stopped. “That's right,” Granger said. “Don't worry. Just being here with you will keep me hard for hours.” Lennox grinned and tried again, getting a little farther, then backed off. It was maddeningly slow, as he tried to relax and take Granger inside. Granger felt as if they'd been at it for hours, with him encouraging Lennox with his words and his hands. He looked up at Lennox's expression, one of sheer determination. Finally he managed to absorb Granger inside, but his expression was one of agony.

Only Granger had had enough. As Lennox pulled off of him, Granger grabbed him and pulled him down, kissing him passionately and then turning him around in the same position they'd been in before. Granger lined his dick up and pushed in, slowly but determinedly. He felt Lennox tense up, felt him bite back a cry of pain, but it was too late, and he was too fired up. He drove in and out, savoring the tight hole, the feel of Lennox's young body as he held him tightly. Granger pushed in and out, focusing on his own feelings, his own satisfaction, until he lost control and came, blasting his load into Lennox's tight little ass. It was glorious; it was wondrous, until he was done.

He made Lennox turn over and look at him and saw the tears in his eyes, the guilt almost overwhelming Granger. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“No. No. Don't say that. You took so much time; you tried so hard to make sure I would enjoy it. I just couldn't let myself go. But at the end, it almost felt good,” Lennox insisted. “I know that next time it will be better.” Then he got really nervous. “There will be a next time, won't there?”

“Do you want there to be?” Granger asked, not wanting to force him.

“I was so afraid of this, that if I finally got the chance to be with you I'd botch it all up and be a bad lover. I don't blame you for not wanting to be with me,” Lennox said, insecurity pouring out of him.

“I enjoyed myself, I am just sad that you didn't. But you don't have to do that to make me happy,” Granger told him while he stroked his hair.

“I don't?” he asked, confused. Granger pushed the young man onto his back and got on top of him. He kissed Lennox and felt Lennox's body respond, felt his young cock harden underneath him. Granger grabbed the lanolin and put it on Lennox's cock, then his own ass, and sat down, taking him in. Granger hadn't fully recovered from his own orgasm, but that wasn't what this was about. Lennox moaned as he entered Granger, and instinctively began thrusting into him. Granger held himself slightly above Lennox and let Lennox do all of the work. It was uncomfortable at first, but in no time at all, Granger felt his own body responding to the assault on his prostate. Lennox watched wide-eyed as Granger stroked his hard cock, and as Granger began to blast his own load all over Lennox's chest, Lennox's own orgasm seemed to take him by surprise. Granger cleaned them both off lovingly, then lay down and pulled Lennox to him.

“You see, there are a lot of different ways to satisfy your partner,” Granger said with a smile.

“I see now. Can we try the other thing again?”

“You mean you want me to make love to you again?” Granger asked. Lennox nodded. Then he dozed off until Granger woke him up and sent him on his way.

August, 1795

“Signal from Aurore, sir. Captain to repair on board,” Lennox said crisply. He was all formality, a proper young officer; it was only the twinkle in his eye that gave away his feelings at addressing his captain. Granger tried not to smile back at him, and tried even harder not to think about their trysts. Granger still hadn't tried to fuck him again, but that didn't stop him from being fun.

“Acknowledge, Mr. Lennox,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” Lennox said smartly, and went to his signals station to hoist the response.

“Mr. Merrick, I'll need my gig at once,” Granger ordered. He looked down at his uniform. He was wearing his second-best jacket, but he decided it would do. It looked better on him anyway, or so he thought. Granger fumed at the delays in getting his gig launched and pulled around to the chains, almost stamped his foot at what seemed like the deliberately slow pace of the crew as they descended into the boat and took up their oars, even though he knew they were going as fast as possible, as fast as any gig crew could. Then he was in the boat and they were on their way, the lugsail out, trying to catch up to a surging Aurore. Travers had the decency to luff Aurore long enough to let them catch up.

Granger came up over the side to find both Travers and Robey waiting to greet him. It bothered him to see them together, even though there was no reason that he should be jealous. He swallowed that irritant and stepped forward to greet them both.

“Won't you join me below?” Travers asked. Granger nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He knew why he was here. They'd sighted Madeira off the bow at dawn, and it was time for them to separate and for Belvidera to continue on alone. Travers led Granger straight through his dining cabin to his sleeping quarters. There, behind the screens, they coupled for one last time before they parted. For both of them, it was physically satisfying, but on a different level, at the emotional level, it was euphoric.

“I feel as if we were never apart,” Travers said, getting a huge smile from Granger. They stood in front of each other, pulling their clothes back on, enjoying the afterglow.

“As do I,” Granger said. “I love you John. Never forget that.”

“I love you too, George,” he said. Travers led them out to his main cabin and poured them a glass of wine. “It's time for us to part company. I am nervous about leaving you with the transports, knowing that Floreal is out there.”

“Now who doesn't have confidence in whom?” Granger asked with a grin. “If we sight her, we will outrun her. The transports are fast, and so is Belvidera. Besides, you have your orders, as do I.”

“We do. To our rendezvous in the Mediterranean,” Travers said, raising his glass in a toast.

“To our rendezvous,” Granger said. They finished their wine, snuck one last surreptitious kiss, and then Travers saw Granger over the side. By evening, Aurore's topsails were barely visible over the horizon.

August, 1795

It had been a week since Aurore had left them, and despite having the transports along for company, Granger felt very alone out here on the vast ocean. Part of that was the seas, which had gotten rough enough to make polite social interaction among the ships of the little squadron impractical. But the bigger part was loneliness, not from a human standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint. When he'd gone to sea in Intrepid, he'd had Calvert there, and even before they were partners, there was a connection there that transcended their naval relationship. When they'd left Portsmouth, he'd had Travers just a gig's pull away on Aurore. But now, for the first time in a long time, he had no one. He found he spent more time by himself, writing letters or focusing on analyzing and re-analyzing their course. Most of his time, though, was spent on deck or on taking care to make sure Belvidera was in perfect order all the time. He loved his ship; she was structurally sound and had a good crew, but he was lonely.

They'd made amazing progress, flying along past Madeira and then the Canaries, until the winds had finally shifted to Belvidera's starboard bow. Granger knew the primary rule of convoy escort, to always stay to the windward of your charges, and that meant putting Belvidera at the front of the convoy. The wind was strong, not a gale, but strong, and the seas were rough today. Granger paced his deck, letting his well-trained sea-legs take the strain of motion.

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the topmast. Granger stopped in his tracks, and everyone else did as well. He looked up to the mast, waiting for a proper report. “Sail off the bow, dead ahead!”

Granger took his speaking trumpet and hailed the top. “What do you make of her?”

“Ship, sir! All I can tell so far!” came the reply. Granger put down the speaking trumpet and grabbed his glass, heading for the foremast shrouds. Then he began his ascent up to the main top. He found himself panting by the time he got there and cursed his lack of physical conditioning. He'd have to do this more often. The ship was still not visible, so he started climbing again, up to the main top gallant, where he found the lookout peering off in the distance. The poor man was so shocked to see him; Granger was worried he'd fall off his perch. He didn't, and that was a good thing, since such a fall was sure to be fatal.

“Sir!” the seaman said nervously.

“What have you found us Grimes?” Granger asked. Grimes pointed straight ahead. Granger balanced himself, then the glass, getting used to the swaying movement of the mast. If Belvidera's movement was rough, up here it was extreme, as the mast mirrored it but in a circular manner. He fixed his eye on the other ship and saw what he knew in his heart he would see. He'd recognize those topsails anywhere. It was Floreal.

Granger scanned the sea around them, looking to see if she had a consort, then turned to Grimes. “Keep an eye on her. I want to know anything she does!”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger used a backstay to slide back to the deck, getting some grins from the crew for his efforts. He'd let himself go a little too quickly, though, and the hemp rope would leave some nasty burns on his hands as a result. That was the least of his problems right now.

“Mr. Lennox. Signal the convoy: enemy in sight!” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said dutifully, and ran to hoist the signal. Merrick was there, looking pensive, while Grafton looked excited.

“She is the Floreal,” Granger informed them.

“Convoy's acknowledged sir,” Lennox said.

“Signal the convoy, course west-southwest,” Granger said. It was his only choice, to try and work the convoy around Floreal. Lennox went off to make that signal while Granger contemplated his next move. He could turn and run, but in these seas it was likely that Floreal would be faster when sailing before the wind. He put Belvidera over onto her new course, followed dutifully by the convoy.

“What do you intend sir?” Merrick asked. Granger was tempted to tell him to mind his own damned business, but if Granger fell, he would need to know.

“We will attempt to work the convoy around her. Maybe she won't see us,” Granger said. “I suspect she will, though. In that case, we will stand toward her, trying to delay her enough to let the convoy get past.”

“If she dishes us up, sir, won't she then just be able to go after the convoy piece by piece?” he asked.

“Unlikely Mr. Merrick. I suspect she's faster than us before the wind, but if we're successful, the convoy will then be upwind of her. Any of these ships will be able to out sail that lubberly battleship on any other point of sailing than astern,” Granger said. “Drop us back to the Caryatide,” Granger ordered. “Take us within hail.”

He saw Commander Smith of Caryatide watching their maneuver dubiously, as if Belvidera was going to run into his ship. Smith was old and grizzled, an old woman almost scared of his own shadow. Fortunately, that may serve best.

Granger picked up his speaking trumpet. “Captain Smith, that is Floreal over there!” Granger yelled. The wind, and sound, was blowing toward Smith, so he just nodded his acknowledgement. “You will lead the convoy around her and make for St. Helena with all due haste. We will try and delay Floreal to give you that time,” Granger said. Smith waved his hand to signal that he understood.

“Mr. Merrick, take station abreast of Caryatide,” Granger ordered. “Then pipe the hands to dinner.”

He stared at Granger briefly before uttering “aye aye sir.” It was a good three hours before dinner, so the only reason to feed the men now was that action was imminent. British captains tried to make sure their men were fed before they went into action.

“Mr. Andrews!” Granger called.

“Sir?” he asked.

“We're about to tangle with a ship-of-the-line. See if we can make this meal special,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said. This battle would be a death sentence for some of them, Granger thought sadly.

“Wind's freshening sir,” Bailey said as he came up next to Granger.

“Will it veer?” Granger asked. This was important. He watched Bailey as he sniffed the air like a sage.

“Don't think so, sir,” he said. Granger looked at his officers, all of them looking morose except Grafton, who was visibly excited. That was irritating, to say the least.

“Deck there! She's altered course to intercept!” the lookout cried. So Floreal had seen them. Her lookouts were awfully inattentive, but she was game enough.

“Mr. Merrick, you may clear for action after the men have dinner. Leave my chartroom intact until I have finished there,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” said Merrick. Granger headed below to his chartroom, looking to see if there were any islands, currents, any obstacles at all he could make use of. He could find none. There was a knock at the door and he yelled, “Enter,” perhaps a bit too loudly.

Grafton came in, the fire of battle in his eyes. Granger glanced down and noticed that it had excited him enough to make his trousers tent out. As Granger looked, they tented more as Grafton's erection grew. Granger forced his eyes up to meet Grafton's knowing he'd been caught staring. Now, added to the fire in Grafton's eyes, was a twinkle to go with it.

“Will you want any chain or langridge shot sir?” Grafton asked. There was a huskiness to his voice that made the question almost sexual.

“It is my intention to stand off and fight her, to try and delay her as much as possible,” Granger said. Grafton moved closer to him, and Granger moved forward as well. “Until she gets within close range, we'll try to disable her. Ask me if you think the time is appropriate. You will need to make sure to keep up the morale of your men. Have a contest. I'll give you a couple of guineas to award to successful gun crews.”

“Aye aye sir,” Grafton said. His movement forward had brought him face to face with Granger. Granger felt his own dick throbbing, and as Grafton moved forward, their erections touched through their trousers.

“You up for it, Mr. Grafton?” Granger asked, taunting him when he knew he shouldn't. “You ready for battle?” Granger moved forward, smashing their cocks together. Grafton growled and thrust forward, increasing the pressure.

“Yes sir,” he said, the raw masculinity, the masculinity of a warrior, dripping from his voice. Granger knew he should stop and go back on deck, but Grafton's sexiness was driving his hormones into a frenzy. Grafton's face moved forward and then his lips were on Granger's, and with that, he became unhinged. He grabbed Granger's head and pulled him close, driving his tongue into Granger's mouth. His aggression, his assertiveness, was like an aphrodisiac in and of itself. Granger savored the taste of Grafton's mouth and yielded to him, but that's not what either of them wanted. He let Grafton roughly turn him around and he felt Grafton's hands on his hips as he slid Granger's trousers down, felt the bare skin of Grafton's dick as it pushed between his cheeks. He thanked his lucky stars Lennox had fucked him this morning, so between the lanolin and the boy's seed he was well lubed. Grafton pushed in gently, and so thick and big was he Granger felt himself cringing. Then, when he was in, Grafton lost it. He pushed Granger over the table and just started pounding him. He said nothing, just grunted loudly as he slammed into Granger again and again, directing all of his strength and battle anger into this fuck.

Granger just submitted, reveling in this ride, at feeling this man take him and knowing how completely helpless he was. Then Grafton pulled him up, almost upright, grabbing Granger's abdomen and groin with his hands to give himself leverage. Granger reached back and pulled Grafton's head to him. “God you feel good, such a good fuck,” Grafton whispered urgently in Granger's ear. “I'm gonna fuck your brains out. You like that? You like the feel of my big cock slamming up your ass? You feel that spear?” All Granger could do was whimper. He felt himself getting close and reached down to stroke himself off. The load built, the assault on his prostate and his own stimulation brought him to orgasm in no time. “I'm gonna blast into you like one of the cannons,” Grafton said. “Shot after shot, right up your ass.” That did it, that set Granger over the edge. He blasted his load all over the table and heard a loud growl as Grafton came right after him, driving his load into Granger as deep as he could.

Granger looked at his watch. The whole thing had taken only five minutes. Five minutes of ecstasy, five minutes of bliss, and it was over. They dressed quickly. “I'm sorry sir. I hope that was OK,” Grafton said.

“Are you only like this before battle, Mr. Grafton?” Granger asked with a smile.

“No sir,” Grafton said with a grin.

“Good,” Granger said. Then he led the lieutenant back up onto the deck and found Floreal much closer.

“Mr. Merrick, please have the hands lay aft,” Granger said. The whistles blew and the men came pouring back enthusiastically. He looked down into the waist at most of them, then ahead to the focs'l and aloft at the rest.

“The men are assembled,” Merrick said.

“Men!” Granger began. “Off there, closing with us, is a French ship of the line pretending to be a merchantman. Her name is Floreal, and we know her game. Our job is to get our lobster friends through to St. Helena, so we have to hold her off.” The older men looked at him dubiously. “Frigates, even one so fine as ours, are not meant to fight battleships, but we have two advantages that that Frog has not considered. First, the waves are too rough for her to use her lower gun deck! And second, this is a British ship!” That last statement got a cheer, and he dismissed the men to go eat their dinner. Then it was time to fight.